An Angel Born In Hell
by Silver Spider
Summary: The tale of how the cold Predacon warrior took in a little Maximal girl who grew up to be the femme fatal of the Beast Wars. Prequel to 'Let Fate Decide' and 'In Brotherhood Bound.'
1. Prologue

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Author's Note: I know I promised myself to write for something other than Beast Wars, but I just couldn't leave Isis and Taratron. I love them too much, and I have a few more stories to tell. There are several things to be told about how the cold Predacon warrior we know took in a little Maximal girl who grew up to be the femme fatal of the Beast Wars. So enjoy, and I really need feedback on this since this is a third story for me about Isis and as we all know working with the same set of characters for a long time doesn't always lead to good stories.

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An Angel Born In Hell

By: Silver Spider

Prologue

Prehistoric Earth,

Fog wavered around the dark form in the middle of the floor. He sat with his legs crossed, optics shut off, and hands folded in his lap. Meditation was an important part of his training, no matter how it looked to everyone else. Suddenly the fog shifted as the door to the outside world slid open and a breeze of fresh air flew through the closed off chamber.

The dark abyss of the warrior's optics swelled with emerald light as he let out a deep growl, displeased that someone dared to interrupt his training. His anger subsided when a crystal clear laugh rang through the room, bouncing off the walls.

"Easy, Taratron," the beautiful owner of the voice emerged from the fog. "It's me." The female smiled and sat down across from him, holding a small object in her hands and settling it in her lap. Despite his annoyance at the interruption, the raptor actually returned the smile.

She had returned to calling him by his true name, which ment he had to explain what was going on to everyone else, especially Optimus. The Maimal leader was not happy to say the least. Taratron was very important in the Maximal army, and to learn that he had been a Predacon undercover was not a good thing. It ended with sevear questioning and lectures from Primal, and an argument with Rattrap, which he had quite enjoyed. Upon being asked about the sudden name change, Blackarachnia had laughed and replayed, "You wouldn't want me to call you 'big brother' again, now would you?"

"Yes, little sister?" Of coarse it was only fair. He had returned to calling her by her birth name as well, though in privet the titles 'little sister' and 'child' often came up. She'd pointed out how glad she was that she never had to live through 'kid' or any other degrading names Cheetor had to engure.

"I wanted to give this back to you," she handed him the holo-projector, the one that held the image of her childhood. "You must want it back."

Dinobot took it from her and fliped it through his claws then shook his hed and handed it back. "No, you keep it, little sister. You need the memories more than I do."


	2. Chapter 1

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Author's Note: Darkshadow, or Darsh as I'll call him later, is partially based on the personality of the main character from a manga _Bastard!!_ something that I highly recommend for the mature. The name of that character is Dark Schneider, but his lover the Thunder Empress Arshes Nei nicknamed him Darsh. Did you notice how in _Let Fate Decide_ and _In Brotherhood Bound_ you usually got Isis' view of the situation? Well here you will mostly see through Taratron's optics.

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Chapter 1

Cybertron, 28 stellar cycles ago,

The single lamp swayed from side to side barley casting any light onto the three dark figures in the small room. They all had silver and red paint jobs with red optics. Their physical structure varied, but all three were designed with the appearance of knights from ancient Earth. One was tall and large, with a broad torso plate and a perpetual scowl on his face. The second resembled him, but was smaller in size. The last of their number was a frail-looking figure, hunched over the center table, with long thin fingers that he drummed together.

"All systems online," sounded the monotone voice of the computer. "Tripredicus Council is now in cession."

"Are you certain this boy is the best candidate?" the first member addressed his frail companion. "This mission is vital to our success. It must go through as planed."

"It will not fail," the second Predacon assured them. "I watched this boy for over a stellar cycle. He is ready for it."

"He is the best one we have," the thin bot told the large one. "He is deticated to the Predacon cause and has no emotional attachments like friends or family who could be used against him."

"Yet he does have a weakness," the first argued. "He will not harm a civilian. His honor is his greatest flaw. Who let him into the files of our Decepticon ancestors in the first place?"

"One of his foolish trainers," the second replied. "Do not concern yourselves, gentlemen. That bot has already been handed over to our top scientists." A maniacal laugh echoed through the room. "Besides, we don't want him to kill civilians. Any of our soldiers can do that. This boy is designed for combat and reconnaissance. We want him to blend in with the Maximals and their army as well as possible."

"Very well," the first Tripredicus Council member sighed after a long moment of silence. "Bring him in and let us see what he has to say for himself."

The third councilbot nodded and pressed a button. "Send in the boy," he called across the com link. The door slid open and a figured stepped through. The largest Predacon studied him carefully and with great skepticism. The young bot was fifteen stellar cycles of age with deep violet optics. He stood straight and saluted the Tripredacus Council.

"Gentlemen," the frail bot rose and walked around the table, placing his thin fingers on the boy's shoulders. "I am proud to present Predacon unit 7547-8666, code name: Taratron."

* * * * * * * * * *

The sun had barely lit up the harrizon when Taratron was loaded onto the truk that would take him into Maximal territory. He held on tightly to the data pad with orders of action from the Tripredicus Council. He sat down on a metal bench in the back hall of the truck, warily observing his surroundings. There were three other children with him. All three wore Maximal symbols, but then again now that his energy signature had been changes he wore it as well. Therefore he had know way of knowing if these children were Maximal prisoners on their way to be released or if they were actually Predacons on missions similar to his own. As far as he knew he was the only one entrusted with such an important mission.

The first one he took note of was a young girl, about a stellar cycle his junior. She sat in the darkest corner of the cart, head buried in her knees which she tightly pulled up to her chest. Her golden bronze hair spilled around her shoulders as they shook violently with each sob. Next to her stood a little boy with emerald-green optics who looked to be only three stellar cycles of age. Judging by his likeness to the female, Taratron guessed that they were somehow related, possibly siblings. The little boy looked like he was trying to comfort the older girl, but the child was on the verge of tears as well.

The last occupant of the cart was a male of Taratron's age and size. He sat slumped back on the bench, arms crossed over his torso plate. He wore a red and black paint job, but Taratron couldn't see the color of his optics for they were shut off. The teenaged male wore a smirk on his face. Tatatron quickly lost interest in the others and activated the data pad to read his orders.

**__**

Unit 7547-8666,

You will arrive on Maximal territory within the next solar cycle. This data pad contains forged records of your birth as a Maximal unit under the name Taratron. Acording to the forged documents, you have begun your training in the M.T.A.—Maximal Training Academy—this stellar cycles. Your classes and other duties are outlined in detail on the next page.

When your training is compleat in the next three stellar cycles, you will begin your life in the Maximal military. Report to us of your progress once your training is completed. After that you will report any and all information from the Maximals concerning the war.

Your ultimate goal is to reach the M.I.U.—Maximal Intelligence Unit. Report to us when you do for further instructions.If you have any questions, contact us.

****

Tripredacus Council

"Hey you," Taratron growled and looked up, meeting the silver optics of the red and black male. "You online, kid?"

"Yes," the Predacon replied slowly, "though it is illogical for you to call me 'kid' since I am probably your peer if not your elder."

"You are?" the male was taken aback by the seriousness of Taratron's voice. "Primus, bro, take that energon rod out of your exhaust port. What are you so uptight about? We're going home."

"You're assuming we have a home to go back to, came the soft voice of the female across the cart. She struggled up to her feet and placed a hand on the little boy's shoulder. Taratron noted that their optics were the same emerald-green color, giving further evidence to his hypothesis of their relationship. "The Predacons went through our colony, destroying everything in their path Even if our home is intact, I don't know if there's anyone left to welcome us back." Her hands tightened around the little boy.

"This is your brother?" Taratron inquired, studying the child.

"Yes," she nodded, her optics never leaving his violet ones. "His name is Celadon. I am Ghanima."

"What you are is a whiny bitch," the other male scoffed. "We're alive. What can you complain about?"

"I resent that, Darkshadow," she sat down with her little brother in her lap.

"Whatever," Darkshadow brushed her of impatiently. He too settled down.

"You know," Taratron said, causally fiddeling with the data pad. "They say that males who speack such profanaties to females often do so because they lack in certain areas," he let that sink n for a beat. "Do you lack in such areas, Darkshadow?"

The other male narrowed his optics, but said nothing else to further injure his ego. Ghanima stared at Taratron, who had returned to reading his data pad. With the corner of his vision, he caught the smile that spread over her once tear-streaked face. He too allowed for an amused smile before turning to look out the window at the full moon, battle scared ages ago by Unicron himself. Taratron didn't know it then, but at that very moment on the surface of that moon, a life sparked into existence that would forever alter the coarse of his fate. Isis Khmer was born.

**__**

Author's End Note: Well how was Chapter 1? How are things from Taratron's eyes? Did you guys pick up that Ghanima's little brother is the same Celadon as the bot who is in the M.I.U. with Isis and Taratron in _Let Fate Decide_? The title of this story _An Angel Born In Hell_ does NOT refer to Isis' birth.


	3. Chapter 2

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Author's Note: The second part of this chapter was a flashback in _Let Fate Decide_ as is the first part of Chapter 3 a flashback from _In Brotherhood Bound_, but I feel it's important to revisit those two places since they are so important to Taratron's relationship with Isis.

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Chapter 2

Six stellar cycles later,

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So they finally came around to it, Taratron looked up at the moon from the window of the military transport shuttle that took him and a dozen other soldiers to the lunar surface and the site of the largest Predacon attack in the past two decades. The battle scared lunar surface was raped with fire and explosions that Taratron could see from the shuttle. The moon was under siege from the Predacon flagship the _Calista_. Taratron was told by the Tripredicus Council that it had been hidden behind a large asteroid. It was in stealth mode, and hidden by clocking technology. Once the asteroid's orbit moved it close to Cybertron's moon, the ship attacked. According to the few treaties between the two sides, the moon was Maximal property. Research laboratories covered a large portion of its surface, but it also contained a massive Maximal aerial and interstellar base. The moon was a strategic location for the military outpost and the Predacons wanted it. 

Taratron understood that during this battle he would be required to fight and terminate his fellow Predacons. He found the thought very distasteful, but the Tripredicus Council reminded him that he couldn't do anything to jeopardize his position in the Maximal military. It wasn't like he never killed Predacons before. There were many little skirmishes that forced his hand against his brethren, but this battle promised an enormous number of casualties on both sides. Taratron finally turned away from the window and tuned into what his commanding officer, Commander Striker, was saying.

"This is what we've been training for, bots," he pointed out the window. "We will land in Helm's Deep, a civilian settlement near the largest research laboratory on the moon."

"Why is it called Helm's Deep?" someone wondered out loud, and Taratron gave the bot a look. Was there a point to asking stupid questions?

"That's the location's code name," Striker calmly explained. "The name comes from an ancient Earth novel called _The Lord of the Rings_. Helm's Deep was a refuge that came under attack from over ten thousand enemy forces. It only had a few hundred defenders, but in the end they defeated the enemy. Today we face similar odds and hopefully will have the same outcome."

Taratron raised an eyebrow, thinking it to be extremely foolish that the Maximals would place their hopes of victory in a tale that was written hundreds of stellar cycles ago and by a different civilization altogether. "When we reach the lunar surface," Striker continued. "We will link up with another set of soldiers from a different transport and form a squadron. Based on his excellent performance in the M.T.A. and in real battle, I appoint Taratron as your squad leader. Any and all decisions regarding combat on the battle field will be made by him. So I now place your sparks into his capable hands."

Taratron was mildly surprised by Striker's decision to put him in command. Though he had no doubt he was the best fighter of the soldiers there, he never expected this. A Predacon leading a squadron of Maximals into battle. How ironic.

Upon stepping onto the ground and off the shuttle, Taratron took note of the second shuttle that had just landed. The second half of his team was here. As he watched the Maximals leave the second shuttle, a flash of golden bronze caught his attention. Violet optics flashed with interest as he watched the beautiful figure of the Maximal female walk forward then stop to observe her surroundings. There was no doubt in his mind of the identity of the person that stood before him.

"Ghanima!" he called for her. The young woman turned her head in his direction. Emerald green optics widened as she recognized him. With clear laughter of joy she ran to him, and he caught her in a tight embrace as if they were two best friends reunited after stellar cycles of separation.

She finally pulled back to look him in the optics and smiled. "I remember you. The boy from the truck."

"Boy?" he raised an eyebrow. "I'm twenty one."

"Well not a boy anymore," she continued to smile. "What are you doing here? I didn't know you joined the army too."

"I did," Taratron nodded, "and I'm here to fight, as you are. In fact, since you just stepped of that ship, I am your commanding officer."

"What?" she pulled back from him in surprise.

"It's true, but since it's you, Ghani, you can just call me Taratron."

* * * * * * * * * *

"Forth squadron, navigate to coordinates 23 by 76, in grid Haphestus! Third squadron, coordinates 10 by 27, grid Alpha!" Taratron belted out orders left and right, as he shot the two approaching Predacons. The battlefield was littered with bodies, the dead mixed in with the wounded; cries were heard from both sides. Suddenly, a single heart-wrenching cry filled the air. Taratron whirled, ready to shoot who ever it was. Instead, he found himself face to face with a little girl, staring into the barrel of his gun.

She was barely over four feet tall, her long ocean-blue hair was an untidy mess spread over her shoulders and her face, her crimson red optics glistened with tears, her cloth were a mess. As the girl stared into the barrel of his gun, her expression twisted into a panic pose. Taratron froze. What was this child doing in the middle of a battlefield? He slowly put down the gun and leaned on one knee in front of her.

"Child, this is no place for you. Where is your family?" he placed both hands firmly on her shoulders.

"They…they were killed," the little girl sobbed. "The Predacons killed them." She could not hold it any longer and burst into a new set of fresh tears. Taratron's gut twisted. The girl was a war orphan. He had seen this too many times, parents were killed in the war and their children were left out to die.

"Listen to me very carefully, child," he raised her chin and looked into her tear-filed eyes. First, find a safe place to hide. When this is over, you may come with me and my superiors will find a safe place of you. All right?" the girl nodded. "Good. What is your name, child?"

"Isis. Isis Khmer."

"All right, Isis. Just stay down and hide," he stood up as another wave of Predacons headed their way and began to fire, while the little girl ran behind a large chunk of metal and crouched down, hugging her knees tightly. Hours later, Taratron stood alone on the battlefield surrounded by over three-dozen bodies. He struggled to catch his breath and suddenly remembered about the little girl.

* * * * * * * * * *

In the refugee section of the Maximal military base, Taratron had taken the time to find fresh cloth and a clean bed for the girl. He led her to the room especially set aside for the refugee children. Isis held on tightly to his hand wary of everything around her. The base scared her. It was loud, the air was stiff, and soldiers ran everywhere caring large weapons. Once in a while a group of medics would hurry by with victims lying on stretchers. When they reached the room, Taratron punched a code into the panel and the door opened with a hiss.

"You'll be safe here," he told Isis as they stepped into the room, "the other children here…" he stopped. The room was empty.

"Where are they?" Isis looked up at him questioningly.

"Probably just in a different room," he didn't want to tell her she was the only child survivor. "That just means you get the whole room to yourself, right?" he smiled down at her, and was rewarded with a shaky smile from Isis. Taratron picked her up and settled her on the bed, leaning on one knee so that they were on the same eye level. Once again, he was struck by how sad she looked.

"I have something for you," maybe this would help. Taratron pulled out a brown stuffed teddy bear. The girl's face instantly lit up. During war, toys, especially stuffed animals, were very rare. "I'll be back in a little while," he got up and patted her shoulder. "Will you be okay if I go?" Isis didn't seem to hear him; she was too preoccupied with the teddy bear. Taratron smiled and left the room. He closed the door behind him and looked up at his Commander Striker, who stood outside.

"I checked her records," said Striker. "Her family was killed at Helm's Deep. She's lucky to be alive, while most kids were also killed."

"What will happen to her?"

"Hard to say. She'll probably end up staying here until someone would adopt her. I trust you'll keep track of her?" Taratron nodded thoughtfully. "Then I'll leave you to it. Don't worry, I expect she'll only be here for a few solar cycles."


	4. Chapter 3

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Author's Note: Once again, you've already read the first part of this chapter, but read it again since it's very important.

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Chapter 3

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Half a stellar cycle after Helm's Deep,

"What in the pit is this slag?" Taratron muttered starring at his laptop terminal. Six months after Helm's Deep, and there were still no traces of the missing Maximals from the battle. The squad leader had no doubt that anyone unaccounted for was now a prisoner of war. Over two dozens of them, male and female, young and old, had been missing. Taratron snarled in disgust. The death of solders was a given, and casualties of war were also inevitable, but the slaughter of the innocent was an act of disgrace.

He stopped and then smiled to himself. Innocence had not died, at least not completely. He saw it every day in the smile of the little girl. She had been with him for all this time, and Taratron had to admit, though rather reluctantly, that he had grown very found of her. Surrounded by soldiers in the army, he couldn't recall the last time he associated with any children. It was very refreshing to get a child's view on the world.

Taratron stretched in his chair and looked at the chronometer. 0346 hours, and he was in need of recharge. He got up and headed for his bedroom. On the way he passed the small room that had been set aside for the girl and decided to check on her. He was expecting to find her sound asleep but instead discovered that her bed was empty. Taratron switched on the lights.

"Isis?"

"Here," a small voice called from the corner. Taratron turned and saw her standing next to the drawers. A few of her things had been removed and piled onto the foot of the bed.

"What are you doing, child?" he frowned and kneeled beside her.

Isis sniffed and wrinkled her nose, giving him her best 'stupid grown-up' look. "What does it look like? I'm running away."

"Oh," not that he was worried that she'd actually leave the military base, but Taratron had no idea how to handle the situation. Something was clearly bothering the child, and he intended to find out what it was. "Isis," he picked up her things and placed them back in the drawers, "why don't we sit down and talk about this?"

She didn't respond, but instead turned her head away from him. Taratron sighed and sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of her. This was going to be very difficult. "Why do you want to run away?"

There was silence for a nanoclick, then Isis spoke without turning to face him. "I…I heard the soldiers talking," she said in a quiet voice. "They…were talking about me, and one of them said, 'What were they thinking?' and the other nodded and said, 'This is a military base, not a day care center,'" she sniffed again, whipping her tear stoked face with the back of her hand. "No one wants me here."

Slowly, arms folded around herself, she began to cry. Soft, silent sobs shook he small body. Taratron moved closer and carefully wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Isis tried to pull away, but he held her firmly. Finally she gave in and sobbed into his shoulder as he held her. After a while, the sobs slowed.

"I want you here," Taratron whispered.

Isis pulled back, her crimson optics met his violet gaze. "Really?"

"Of coarse," he nodded. "What do you say we give this another try?" he ran a hand through her long, tangled hair.

The little girl was clearly considering it, but she was not convinced. Feeling that the bots of the army had let her down, she was reluctant to put her trust in them again.

"Come on," Taratron coaxed softly. He reached out and whipped the tears left on her cheeks. "I'll take care of you."

The words left his mouth before he even realized what he was saying. Only after he said them, did Taratron realize the enormous task he was taking on. But he didn't back out. The girl needed someone, and on some level, he felt that he needed her as well.

"You promise?" Isis' voice was full of hope.

"Yes, I promise," Taratron took a deep breath and kissed the top of her head. "After all, that is what families do, is it not? They take care of one another."

"Family? Like a mommy and a daddy?"

Taratron winced; the title 'daddy' didn't appeal to him. "No, like…like a big brother," he corrected. "Have you ever had a brother?" she shook her head. "Well now you do."

Isis smiled, but then rubbed her optics and yawned. It was very late; she was exhausted. Taratron took her in his arms, and she snuggled against him. He moved a stray lock of hair away from her face and rocked her in his arms until she finally fell asleep. He then got up and carried her to the bed, gently placing her down and pulling the warm covers up to her shoulders. Isis shifted in her sleep, trying to get comfortable. Once he was sure she wouldn't wake up again, Taratron turned off the lights and walked out, quietly closing the door behind himself.

"Sleep well, little sister."

* * * * * * * * * *

****

Three solar cycles later,

To an ordinary bot, the cold metal halls of the military headquarters might have seemed a bit frightening. Every step one took echoed from the walls, bouncing back louder than ever. In truth, there was a certain level of intimidation involved when it was first constructed, and it took a while for the new soldiers to get used to it. Still there was one particular person who was not completely comfortable with the entire setup.

"Why can't we go home yet?" the young girl, little over six stellar cycles of age whined, tugging on the larger hand that she was holding on to.

Never in his wildest dreams did Taratron see himself the guardian of a little Maximal girl at age twenty one. At times he wondered if Isis even needed his protection. There were times when he could have sworn she was capable of taking out an entire squadron single-handedly. Now was not one of those times.

"I told you that I needed to talk to my commander," he told her. "There are some things I need to work out before they let me keep you."

"I'm not a pet!" she voiced her displeasure loudly and folded her arms over her chest, giving Taratron an indignant little pout.

Taratron sighed and picked her up settling her on the ledge that perturbed from the wall so that they were at the same optic level. The tone of voice was not like her. Isis didn't usually whine, which is part of the reason he found it possible to deal with her. Still Tartan had to remind himself that he couldn't treat her like an adult. She was just six stellar cycles old and only six months away from one of the bloodiest battles Cybertyron's moon had ever seen, Helm's Deep.

"I know you don't like it here," he said very slowly, trying to keep his frustration in check, "but I have to make sure they'll let you stay with me."

"Why wouldn't they?" Isis asked rather innocently. "You're my brother."

Feeling the frustration level rise again, Taratron shut off his optic and slowly counted back from ten. Isis took the sibling concept to heart. Not that this was a bad thing, but she didn't understand that they were not related by blood. Simply stating that she was his sister and he her brother, didn't make it so.

"But no one else knows that," he tried explained but before he had a chance to continue he noticed a bot heading in their direction. About the same age as Taratron with a red and black paint job and bright silver optics, the soldier went by the name Darkshadow, or Darsh for short as most other bots called him. Taratron released a low growl.

"So this is why you never show up to party with us guys anymore," Darsh clapped him on the back. "Taratron, what _have_ you been doing?" The bot's voice held an accusative but humorous tone.

"Don't start," Taratron warned him. "It's not what your perverted processor makes it out to look like."

"No? So this isn't your secret love child?" the bot burst into laughter.

Taratron's mild headache exploded into a full blown migraine. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Meanwhile, Isis glanced between her guardian and the new bot in confusion.

"I'm Isis," she tried to be a little helpful. "Taratron is my big brother."

"Is he now, little lady," Darsh was amused. "Are you sure?"

"Yep," the little girl smiled broadly and turned to her guardian. "See? Now one more person knows. Does that help?"

"Immensely," Taratron sighed. "Look, Darkshadow, I'm in a hurry so let us pass."


	5. End

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Author's Note: I am sorry to say, that this is the end. I have attempted my best, but this story is just not going anywhere. Maybe I outgrew Beast Wars, maybe there's nothing left to tell. Whatever the reason, I must leave. I will continue to write, but now my focus is on an original story which I hope to turn into a book one day. The newest things in my account are two poems which I would love feedback since it is my first attempt at poetry. Farewell, my friends.

Silver Spider


End file.
